


5 Times Steve Was Rendered Speechless by Bucky, and 1 Time He Wasn't

by babydollbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, PTSD, Pining, Recovery, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydollbucky/pseuds/babydollbucky
Summary: Known for his inspiring speeches, Captain America isn't always so eloquent. Here are five times Steve couldn't find the words, and one time he turned the tables.





	5 Times Steve Was Rendered Speechless by Bucky, and 1 Time He Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CarburetorCastiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarburetorCastiel/gifts).



> This is so late omg! I'm so sorry, King!!! But I hope you enjoy this little fic!
> 
> ♡ Your Secret Santa
> 
> Thank you to [opalinepixie](URL) for betaing!

1\. 1928

Steve was crying. Not gentle streams of quiet tears, but great, heaving, snotty sobs. His knee hurt so bad, and that Tommy was such a jerk! He was hitting a puppy with stick, so Steve had tried to stop him. He rubbed at his eyes, and then his nose.

 

He sat against a brick wall in the dirt, arms around his knees and clothes a mess. Ma would be so upset… he _hated_ making her upset.

 

“Hey, what're you doing?” said a voice to his right.

 

His head whipped around and his eyes landed on a boy standing a bit away from him. The boy was taller than him, and had dark hair. His face was twisted into a look of puzzlement.

 

Steve curled into himself, thinking the boy would beat on him too.

 

“Oh! You're bleeding!” the boy said, and Steve gazed up at him, surprised by the concern in his voice. “Lemme help you up.” He grabbed Steve's wrist and hauled him up. Steve swayed on his feet until the boys grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “I'm Bucky. Were those guys pickin’ on you?” the boy said carefully.

 

Steve couldn't speak. No one, besides Ma, had ever talked to him like this, like they were trying to make him feel better. He just stared and nodded.

 

Bucky seemed to understand why Steve was silent. He winked and said, “It's ok, they're just jerks. Are you ok?” Steve nodded. “Alright. You live around here? How about I walk ya home?”

 

And that was the start of a lifelong bond.

 

* * *

 

2\. 1938

He heard the door shut, and the clumsy footsteps as Bucky stumbled through, and the soft rustling of his shoes and jacket coming off.

 

He felt Bucky's presence as he entered the bedroom. He could smell the alcohol before Bucky even reached the bed.

 

“Steve,” he states whispered, clearly thinking he was being quiet, but failing. “Hey, Stevie.”

 

The covers flipped up by Steve's back, and the bed dipped under Bucky's weight. Steve sighed.

 

“What is it, Buck?” he said, humoring him but not turning around to face him.  

 

“Stevie, you shoulda come with me!” he slurred.

 

“Nah, I wouldn't have been very good company,” Steve said, feeling a bit sorry for himself.

 

“You're always good company, ‘cept when you're being a punk.”

 

Chuckling softly, Steve told him, “I'm sure your gal was much more fun than I woulda been.

 

Bucky wound an arm around Steve's middle, and Steve froze.

 

“Would've rather been with you,” he rumbled, easy as anything.

 

Steve sighed again, closing his eyes. He wanted to believe that. He wanted Bucky to be telling the truth. But Bucky was drunk, he didn't know what he was saying or doing. That was all.

 

“Wish I could marry you,” he added quietly.  

 

Steve's eyes snapped open. His breath was trapped in his chest.

 

Had he heard right? Why would Bucky say that? Was he messing with him? That couldn't be true...

 

But by the time he had recovered his voice enough to sai anything, Bucky was snoring softly, exhales tickling the back of Steve's  neck.

 

He didn't sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

3\. 1944

“I love you, you know that?” Bucky said, resolutely staring at the floor. They were in Steve’s tent, taking a minute just to _be._

 

It had been a shitty day. Morita had been hit with a stray bullet, they were all covered in mud  because of the rain, and Steve and Bucky were both feeling disheartened.

 

Steve turned to face Bucky, sitting on the ground in the dirt. “I know, Buck,” he said, confident in Bucky’s honesty. Bucky’s voice sounded… _off_ , though. “You ok, pal?” He walked over to where the other man was sitting, and joined him on the ground.

 

“It’s... just...you think we’ll ever get to go home?” His voice broke on the last word, and Steve was overcome with the need to hug his lifelong friend and love. Bucky had been at war for two years, but it must have felt like forever. Steve wondered, himself, sometimes. But he tried to be optimistic.

 

“Yeah, Buck. We’ll go back to Brooklyn, live next door to each other, marry some nice girls, play with each other’s kids,” Steve murmured, wanting desperately to sound cheerful, but failing. “We’ll be old men together, we’ll see the world change. It’ll be great, Bucky.”

 

Bucky slumped into his side, and heaved a single sob. He shook his head and rasped out, “You’re wrong...I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of here, Stevie.”

 

Steve leaned his head on top of Bucky’s, saying, “No, sweetheart, I’m gonna--”

 

Bucky interrupted so softly, Steve had to strain to hear him.

 

“I almost wish I died on that table…”

 

Steve gasped, squeezing his eyes shut against burning tears trying to make their way out.

 

What could he say to that? How could he make Bucky feel safe again? Especially when he, himself, wasn’t so sure they would live through the war. He couldn't begrudge Bucky the thought that if he'd died, it would be over.

 

His tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth In(in) lieu of speaking, Steve put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and pulled him in close. He kissed the man’s dark hair, and let him cry. Steve let himself cry too.

 

* * *

 

  
4\. 2017

Bucky was lying in bed, curled under the covers. With the sun as low as it was, it was probably after two. He hadn’t been able to make himself get up.

 

It happened sometimes. The memories would spin around in his head until it felt impossible to act human. So, rather than hurt Steve like that, he hid. He knew Steve would let him be; he was unwilling to infringe on Bucky’s privacy and agency.

 

It _was_ becoming rarer. His therapist said he was making progress, Steve seemed less inclined to apologize and grovel if he accidentally misstepped, and this was the first bad day in over two months.

 

There was still so much he couldn’t remember; so much he didn’t _want_ to remember. They came in flashes of realization, sometimes at horrible times.

 

Like when Steve kissed him for the first time since 1945.

 

He was brought back to the first time they forced a bite guard into his mouth when they had wiped him. They had pried his mouth open, and shoved in the guard. He remembered it smelling like burnt rubber, and feeling that it was choking him. A tooth had still cracked, so they made a stronger one for the next time.

 

He’d made the mistake of flinching away from Steve, whom, of course, asked what was wrong. At that point, he hadn’t realized that he could hurt Steve by telling him what HYDRA had done to him.

 

He knew now. He only shared the good memories. He saved the bad ones for his therapist.

 

She thought he should tell Steve everything. Bucky disagreed- he didn’t see a reason to traumatize Steve with _his_ trauma.

 

So, he hid. And Steve let him.

 

But today, he felt strange. He felt very lonely, though he knew that Steve was in the apartment. He wanted Steve near him. He wanted Steve to come through the door, into his room and tell him that he was okay, that he was doing fine, this was just a bad day.

 

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and texted Steve. He didn’t know if he could speak to the man, but he could type.

 

Steve’s light-footed steps sounded on the other side of the door. He knocked twice, and then opened it and stepped into the room. His voice was low when saying Bucky’s name; not a question, just acknowledging that he was there.  

 

Bucky uncovered his head, feeling a little more brave, and held out his metal hand. Steve came to him, like he was being pulled, compelled. Sliding into the bed under the covers, Steve lay down facing Bucky. Their knees knocked together, and they pressed their foreheads together. Bucky peered into Steve’s bright blue eyes, wishing he could read his mind, just for this moment.

 

“What do you need, Buck?” Steve asked, one hand coming up to cup Bucky’s cheek.

 

Bucky shook his head, and opened his mouth, only for it to close again without having made a sound. His brows pulled down, as did his lips.

 

“It’s ok. You wanna type it out?” Steve asked. Bucky picked up his phone again.

 

_I’m sorry. I hate this._

 

Steve read, and sighed. “I know, but tomorrow will be different. You just needed a day.”

 

_Kiss me?_

 

Steve’s eyes widened, and pink covered his cheeks. Both of them were becoming more physically affectionate lately because Bucky had been doing so well. But on a bad day?

 

“Are you...I mean, if you’re not feeling--”

 

He didn’t get to finish, because Bucky grabbed his face and pulled it to his own, lips pressing together. Steve melted into it, kissing him back, and Bucky sighed at the feeling of being safe. He pulled away to type another message.

 

_I've loved you since I was thirteen. Even when I didn't know it._

 

He looked up through his lashes to find Steve with a gentle smile, fat tears rolling sideways down his face.

 

Bucky leaned close to kiss him again, just to drive the point home.

 

There was no more talking, or typing, that day.

 

* * *

 

5\. January 2019

Steve hated press conferences. He hated public speaking, he hated answering questions, he hated being watched by millions of people.

 

And he hated these things being combined with conservative assholes.

 

Bucky was well aware of these facts, and he was well aware of Steve's tells-- when Steve was about to lose it.

 

It was happening right now. It was Bucky's first press conference on the team. Most questions were respectful in dealing with his recovery and abilities, and relationship to Steve and the rest.

 

But of course someone had to ruin it.

 

A reporter, from some conservative paper, stood to ask a question while smirking.

 

“How can you call yourself an Avenger, a hero, when you've murdered so many people?”

 

Bucky had been prepared for that question, and so had Steve, and everyone else. He still flinched. But, he kept his chin up, refusing to make himself small. He had worked hard, for _months_ to make himself believe that nothing that was done to him was his fault, nor were the things HYDRA made him do.  

 

He saw Steve's back straighten out of the corner of his eye, ready to defend, as he had always done. When Bucky turned to look at him fully, his mouth was open, obviously preparing to verbally eviscerate the reporter.

 

Bucky laid a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. Bucky grabbed the microphone in front of him, and gave Steve a small smile, hoping to reassure him that he was alright.

 

Turning to the sea of journalists, Bucky spoke.

 

“If that's what you believe about me, I can't change that. I have a skill set that no one else on the planet has. After decades of conditioning and abuse and torture, I am _choosing_ to keep using those skills to help people.” The room was silent, every set of eyes on him. He could feel Steve buzzing, ready to jump in should he need it. “The team has helped me come to the conclusion that I did not want to do anything HYDRA made me do. I've worked hard to accept that it wasn't my fault,” he said quietly. That was all true. Each member of the Avengers had accepted him, and done their best to facilitate his recovery.

 

But Steve, of course, had had the most impact. He never got frustrated with him when he couldn't get out of bed, or when he woke him up with his thrashing in the middle of the night. He had worked just as hard to deal with his own issues, so he could better help Bucky. He talked him through panic attacks and flashbacks, and sat in on therapy sessions when Bucky asked him to.

 

He had done anything and everything in his power to make sure Bucky was okay.

 

And he wanted Steve to know that he was.

 

“I killed a lot of people during my...captivity. I don't deny that--I never have.” Eyes never leaving Steve’s, Bucky continued confidently. “But it was _not my fault.”_

 

With that, he stood, and led the Avengers out of the room.

 

Once behind closed doors, he took a deep breath and turned around to face Steve.

 

His eyes were impossibly wide, brimming with tears. There was a look of pride in them, alongside the shock. His lips parted, only for no words to emerge. He could only fall into Bucky's arms, and hide his face in his neck.

 

Bucky pressed kiss to the side of his head.

 

They stood that way for a while. When they returned to the apartment, they laid in bed the same way for hours, Bucky petting Steve's hair.

 

* * *

 

+1.  April 2019

Five years since Steve had found Bucky--five years since his heart began beating again.

 

He was going to do it today.

 

Bucky had always been the better of the two of them with words. Before the war, he'd been called _charming,_ and had been accused of being a _sweet talker._ Since he'd been in recovery, he'd regained his sense of self, with some added eccentricities, like a darker sense of humor.

 

He was determined to leave his love awestruck, so much so that he was unable to string a sentence together.

 

He had run through it _at least_ fifty times in his head. He even enlisted Nat, Sam and Pepper to critique what he'd come up with.

 

He wasn't planning anything too extravagant, just a nice dinner out, and a bath at home. Then, if everything worked out, he'd do his thing, and he and Steve would have an... _exciting_ night.

 

He told Steve to dress nice, and be ready by 6pm. Bucky himself had gone to Sam’s to have his own, private, little freak out.

 

What if Steve said no? What if he wasn't over Peggy? What if he was afraid of Bucky? What if Bucky got to be too much?

 

A lot of stupid questions--according to Sam-- floated around in his brain.

 

He was _terrified._

 

“Dude, you two have been in love for like, a hundred years. He's not gonna say no.”

 

“I'm so fucked up, though! He deserves so much better, Sam, and he's gotta know that by now. He's just too...too... _Steve_ to let me down!”

 

Sam shook his head, tsking at Bucky. “Bucky, he loves you. He would not have done everything he has done for you if he didn't love you. You know that. You just gotta calm the fuck down, man.”

 

Sam's blunt way of snapping people out of their spiraling thoughts worked most of the time. It even worked then, a little bit. At least Bucky could go get Steve without his hands shaking.

 

He fixed his hair in the mirror one more time--Nat said the half up-half down thing worked the best--and went to fetch Steve for their dinner.

 

As they ate and chatted and teased each other, Bucky kept reaching into his pocket, just to make sure a certain item was still there. His nerves had eased, watching Steve delight in his food and in showing Bucky off, subtly.

 

He liked showing Steve off, too.

 

In the car, (arranged by Tony), they kissed the entire way back to their apartment, feeling a bit giddy. Bucky had forgotten about the anxiety of his plan. That was the effect Steve had on him; they were still those kids from Brooklyn, if a little more broken, and a lot more in love.

 

Tipping the driver, they climbed out of the car, hanging all over each other. They walked hand in hand to their door, and Bucky couldn't resist sticking his hands in Steve's pockets as he unlocked the door.

 

Giggling and panting like they had wrestled for half an hour, Steve backed Bucky into a corner. He took his time pulling whines from him, as Bucky struggled to remember that he had a plan at all.

 

They made it up to their bedroom, and helped each other out of their clothes before being drawn back to together like magnets.

 

Steve's hands were everywhere, and Bucky wanted to get his mouth on him. He leaned in to beg for more heated kisses.

 

God, Steve smelled so good. And he was so good with his mouth, and his hands…

 

And then Steve... stopped. Cradled Bucky’s face between his huge hands. Gazed into his eyes. Leaned in for one more kiss.

 

“Marry me, Buck…” Steve whispered against his lips.

 

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, and he blinked stupidly. His mouth wasn’t working, because his brain refused to work. After a very awkward silence in which Steve’s head tilted like a confused puppy’s, Bucky’s brain came back online.   

 

Steve had just proposed to him. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. _He_ was supposed to propose to Steve. But he beat him to it. He almost wanted to be mad. But Steve was asking him to marry him. How could he be mad?

 

Instead, embarrassingly, he started crying.

 

“Buck? Hey, what’s wrong? I didn’t mean to--”

 

Without the use of his words, caused by joy and shock, Bucky briefly smashed his mouth into Steve’s, and then buried his face into his chest. His arms wrapped around Steve’s waist.

 

“I hope that means yes?” Steve said bemusedly.  He hugged Bucky back, and felt when he gave a series of nods. He chuckled a bit, hugging Bucky tighter. “Good. I don’t know what I was going to do if you said no.”

 

There was little sleep had that night. They were too busy planning for a future that had been eighty years in the making. 


End file.
